The Day You Died
by Eluveitie's Slania
Summary: Songfic to The Day You Died by Arch Enemy, don't need to know the song or band. How does Hermione feel when Harry is believed to be dead in Deathly Hallows? This is my attempt to find out...usually not my kind of thing, but whatever. Please have a look!


**Song:** _The Day You Died_, by Arch Enemy, from their 2007 album _Rise of the Tyrant_.

**Please Read: **I know; not my usual thing at all, as in: a) angst, b) tragedy, c) songfic. I never read or write them – but this one had to be done. If you actually care about _why_ I wrote this, please read on. If not, skip to **A/N 2**. Thanks guys.

**A/N 1**: I bought this album very recently, and as I shut my eyes and listened to "The Day You Died", I felt intense emotion…and I'm fairly passive when it comes to songs (except for the odd headbang. But that's appreciation, not real emotion). Just before that I'd been on the site archives, and when the chorus started up, Harry's "death" at the Battle of Hogwarts was all I could see. Feeling agitated, I then scanned chapter thirty-six of Deathly Hallows, _The Flaw in the Plan_, and realised that Hermione pretty much maintains radio silence throughout the scene – Harry never even sees her until he's gotten back up. This song was then stuck in my brain for three days straight until I found the time to sit down and get into Hermione's head for this scene. I hope I did her justice.

**A/N 2: **You don't need to know the song to read the piece; though Gossow's vocals really pack a punch. You also don't need to be an H/Hr shipper; it's one-sided and only there if you squint. I promise.

**Disclaimer: **Ich besitze nichts, ja? ... Harry Potter's world belongs to JK Rowling; lyrics of "The Day You Died" to Angela Gossow and Michael Amott. Consider the disclaimer my salute to Angela.

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**The Day You Died**

Hell on Earth.

That was how Hermione would describe it.

The fighting had stopped almost an hour ago; she had been in the tunnel beneath the Shrieking Shack, heard Voldemort's dread voice: _"You have one hour…"_

The dead and the dying…they were everywhere. Men and women from both sides; pure-blood, Muggle-born, human, house-elf…

It didn't matter. They were all united in death.

Ron was at her side; his face set, the tears drying on his pale cheeks. Fred Weasley would be avenged tonight.

Others were gathering on the steps like her. There was Neville, Ginny, Cho, Seamus, Ernie… a generation violated.

Hermione knew that tonight, everything had changed. She knew that underneath, she was not like Harry. She would kill or be killed.

Where was Harry? She could tell that their allies were thinking the same; their movements and speech showed how ill at ease they were. They weren't soldiers, no matter how hard they tried. Not like her.

Ignoring the shuffling, Hermione held her wand close. She looked out over the dark, barren, bloodied grounds to the Forest just ahead…and realised. Time was up. A dark mass was slithering out from between the grim, comfortless trees. They were coming.

Frantically, she turned to view the fighters. Panic flickered across every single face.

She knew that they looked to her to lead them. Harry wasn't here now (where _was _he?); so she was their lieutenant. "Hold!" She ignored the mantra of her brain: _I don't want to be here! I want my parents, I want to be with my parents, I want to be safe! _She shut it out. She was doing that a lot recently.

The army paid attention to her call; they stiffened, gathered just inside of the Entrance Hall. Hermione supposed that its orange glow was to be warm and welcoming. It wasn't burning, she told herself, wasn't falling. The world wasn't dying. It wasn't Judgement Day. Apocalypse. Ragnarök.

She just had to believe it.

They came out of those trees, a languid, cancerous stain, to face the bastion that was Hogwarts. Her home, just as much as the house of her parents in Bamburgh. The empty house.

She could see now that _he_ led them; fear dropped like a sucker punch to her stomach. Narrowed eyes, snakelike features; evil embodied. His cold voice drilled into Hermione's eardrums; a frigid wave shocking her exhausted body back to agonising, paralysing alertness.

"Harry Potter is dead. He was killed as he ran away, trying to save himself while you lay down your lives for him. We bring you his body as proof that your hero is gone."

No.

"The battle is won. You have lost half of your fighters. My Death Eaters outnumber you and the Boy Who Lived is finished."

No.

Without thought, Hermione pushed her way through the shell-shocked crowd and ran down the stairs into the cool night air. Voldemort continued to speak, yet she heard none of it. Harry wasn't dead. She knew he wasn't. Not Harry.

_**A precious child with an innocent mind.**_

He was her everything; brother, friend, ally, so much more…so precious to her. He didn't deserve this travesty of a life he'd had to lead. He believed; he had hope, love, everything left to fight for. Not like her. She'd lost her innocence when she'd had to use her power against her own parents.

_**Born to suffer, in this life or for another**__**.**_

But that was a choice she had made for him…he was saviour, martyr, Chosen One. The sacrificial lamb on the altar between light and dark. But Harry wouldn't run scared; he would face it. He would face the destiny prophesised for him eighteen years ago, even to his own end. To save the rest. He wasn't dead!

She took gulps of oxygen; searched the Dark Lord's force for the very thing that she didn't want to see.

A giant among the lines. No. Not a giant. Hagrid; walking slowly, carrying something in his arms. Hermione knew the others were behind her. She didn't care.

And then Hagrid stopped. She saw with brutal clarity what was in his arms.

Harry.

_**So hopeless and relentless falls this remorseless day**__**.**_

She knew McGonagall was making a noise; she didn't hear it. She fell to her knees. His face, so pale, so perfect… the scream was torn from her, from something deep inside of her. How could this be possible? How could Merlin, God, the cold cruel world, let this happen?

_**The dark remains of a violent world**__**.**_

All was lost. She was lost. Nothing mattered any more. Harry had entered this world in conflict and now he left it, the same conflict, the same violence. Her world since twelve had been him, and now it was nothing. Her world had fallen apart.

Nothing mattered any more.

-o-

_**The day you died my tears ran dry**__**.**_

She couldn't cry. There was nothing left in her. Tears wouldn't bring him back.

She watched blankly, uncomprehendingly as the giant lowered him to the ground at Lord Bastard Voldemort's feet. Why wasn't he getting up?

_**I feel you, I hear you echo in my soul**__**.**_

Because he was dead.

Hermione gasped as the realisation crashed onto her.

She was being torn in half. This was worse then Bellatrix Lestrange's pathetic attempts to crush her at Malfoy Manor, a lifetime ago. Because Harry had been alive then, and he – whether he realised it or not – had not let her fall. Alive.

_**I failed you,**_

Another tortured wail escaped her. She was only vaguely aware of others next to her, touching her; her eyes remained fixed on the impassive scene before them.

It shouldn't be like this! She should have been by his side. She hadn't protected him and now he was on the ground. Cold. Where she had sworn she wouldn't ever let him go. Now he was somewhere that she couldn't follow. She had broken her word. She had, ultimately, failed him. Abandoned him.

_**I miss you so**__**.**_

She should redeem herself. They should have entered death together. She should have died for him, as he had for her! The sound of words, being traded like cards back and forth above her bowed head made no sense to her. They were petty, meaningless. They didn't change that Harry was_ there_; empty of the life that she stubbornly, selfishly, held on to. Already she craved his voice, his eyes, his smile, his touch. Cravings, wants, _needs_, that would never be satisfied.

_**The day you died echoes in my soul**__**.**_

She hadn't realised how much that would hurt. She'd taken him for granted. And now, it was too late. Her existence was this; this uncontrollable, icy, fiery pain that scorched her nerves and froze her heart.

She couldn't muster the strength to stand. It had left with her light. Her beacon, guide. Her very soul was empty – apart from the waves of pain that wrenched at her. It was damaged beyond repair. It was the memory of him.

-o-

_**This world's on fire – turned its back on us**__**.**_

Judgement Day. Apocalypse. Ragnarök. It was here.

Hermione knew then, that she _would _fight. Not for freedom, not for goodness, not for any of that _shit_ that had let Harry die. For her. And for him.

If the world wasn't burning already, then she would set it alight.

_**A lost horizon left behind**__**.**_

As she slowly stood, wand ready, her anger and pain became something hard, something cold, a splinter of steel in her heart. Hermione shut down the part of her brain that was screaming without pause, screaming for him and her and _them_, and for something she had acknowledged but never accepted, the love she felt for him running deeper than everything she had felt before. She had to leave that part of her behind. She had to let go of the tiny hope, the tiny chance, that tiny vision of a future that would never come to pass. A future with him.

_**So hopeless and relentless falls this remorseless day**__**.**_

She would never love like that again. But she would never weaken either; when one has no hope, one cannot feel fear. Her future was mapped out for her. This day would carry on, these atrocities continue. But Hermione could die trying to stop them.

Her thoughts were in circles. She barely noticed the shower of snake blood, arcing into her muddy and sweat-stained clothes, her filthy, matted, wild hair. She'd loved him.

_**The dark reality of a hostile world**__**.**_

She surfaced, gasped for breath, blinked; Neville had killed the snake. Despite the violence, the bloodshed of the hours, she felt a cool satisfaction. Maybe there was something to aim for after all.

But not for Hermione. Her reality, one way or another, in mind or in body, was this:

The day Harry died was the day she died too.

-o-

It was over. Hermione gazed into hypnotic flames, blind to the familiar surroundings of her common room.

Fiendfyre. Apocalypse. Ragnarök.

Harry might have returned from the dead just minutes after Nagini's death. But only the Chosen One, only the Boy Who Lived, could perform such a feat. Hermione knew that, despite his compassion, despite Ron's confusing love, she could not.

_**A lost horizon left behind**__**.**_

_**

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Wow, that's depressing.

Please reader, feed back to me on this; I've never written a piece in this style before and it was bloody difficult to get going!

**A/N 3:** I have no idea if Hermione lives in Bamburgh. But _I _like Bamburgh, so there.

And for mediate89, who sent an AF request, I know; but we've hit the ground running at school and it's hard to actually get the time, energy and motivation to write – and when I do, all I get is dreary depression. It's a sign…right, enough of my moaning.

I've included the song lyrics as they are in the booklet of Rise of the Tyrant here.

**Lyrics As Recorded in Album Booklet of "Rise of the Tyrant" (2007):**

A precious child with an innocent mind  
Born to suffer, in this life or for another

So hopeless and relentless falls this remorseless day  
The dark remains of a violent world

The day you died my tears ran dry  
I feel you, I hear you echo in my soul  
I failed you, I miss you so  
The day you died echoes in my soul

This world's on fire – turned its back on us  
A lost horizon left behind

So hopeless and relentless falls this remorseless day  
The dark reality of a hostile world

But, of course, the most important thing that I can say is thanks to all of you for reading. I promise that this won't be my last post…unless you want me to stop writing and die in a hole. But you wouldn't do that, would you? Guys?

Slania x


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